THE DOG.
THE intelligence of the dog is of special, and indeed of unique interest
from an evolutionary point of view, in that from time out of record this
animal has been domesticated on account of the high level of its natural
intelligence; and by persistent contact with man, coupled with training
and breeding, its natural intelligence has been greatly changed. In the
result we see, not only a general modification in the way of dependent
companionship and docility, so unlike the fierce and self-reliant
disposition of all wild species of the genus; but also a number of
special modifications, peculiar to certain breeds, which all have
obvious reference to the requirements of man. The whole psychological
character of the dog may therefore be said to have been moulded by human
agency with reference to human requirements, so that now it is not more
true that man has in a sense created the structure of the bull-dog and
greyhound, than that he has implanted the instincts of the watch-dog and
pointer. The definite proof which we thus have afforded of the
transforming and creating influence exerted upon the mental character
and instincts of species by long and persistent training, coupled with
artificial selection, furnishes the strongest possible corroboration of
the theory which assigns psychological development in general to the
joint operation of individual experience coupled with natural selection.
For thousands of years man has here been virtually, though
unconsciously, performing what evolutionists may regard as a gigantic
experiment upon the potency of individual experience accumulated by
heredity; and now there stands before us this most wonderful monument
of his labours--the culmination of his experiment in the transformed
psychology of the dog.
In my next work I shall treat of this subject with the fulness that it
deserves--especially in its relation to the origin of instincts and the
development of the moral sense; but to enter upon this topic at present
would demand more space than can be allowed.
To do full justice to the psychology of the dog a separate treatise
would be required. Here I can only trace a sketch.
_Memory._
As regards memory, one or two instances will suffice. Mr. Darwin writes:
'I had a dog who was savage and averse to all strangers, and I purposely
tried his memory after an absence of five years and two days. I went
near the stable where he lived, and shouted to him in my old manner; he
showed no joy, but instantly followed me out walking, and obeyed me, as
if I had parted with him only an hour before.'[263]
It is not only persons or places that dogs remember for long periods. I
had a setter in the country, which one year I took up with me to town
for a few months. While in town he was never allowed to go out without a
collar on which was engraved my address. A ring upon this collar made a
clinking sound, and the setter soon learnt to associate the approach of
this sound with the prospect of a walk. Three years afterwards I again
took this setter up to town. He remembered every nook and corner of my
house in town, and also his way about the streets, and the first time
that I brought his collar, slightly clinking as before, he showed by his
demonstrations of joy that he well remembered the sound with all its old
associations, although he had not heard this sound for three years.
_Emotions._
The emotional life of the dog is highly developed--more highly, indeed,
than that of any other animal. His gregarious instincts, united with
his high intelligence and constant companionship with man, give to this
animal a psychological basis for the construction of emotional
character, having a more massive as well as more complex consistency
than that which is presented even in the case of the monkey, which, as
we shall afterwards see, attains to a remarkably high level in this
respect.
Pride, sense of dignity, and self-respect are very conspicuously
exhibited by well-treated dogs. As with man, so with the friend of man,
it is only those whose lines of fortune have fallen in pleasant places,
and whose feelings may therefore be said to have profited by the
refining influences of culture, that display in any conspicuous measure
the emotions in question. 'Curs of low degree,' and even many dogs of
better social position, have never enjoyed those conditions essential to
moral refinement, which alone can engender a true sense of self-respect
and dignity. A 'low-life' dog may not like to have his tail pulled, any
more than a gutter child may like to have his ears boxed; but here it is
physical pain rather than wounded pride that causes the smart. Among
'high-life' dogs, however, the case is different. Here wounded
sensibilities and loss of esteem are capable of producing much keener
suffering than is mere physical pain; so that among such dogs a whipping
produces quite a different and a much more lasting effect than in the
case of their rougher brethren, who, as soon as it is over, give
themselves a shake and think no more about it. As evidence of the
delicacy of feeling to which dogs of aristocratic estate may attain, I
shall give one or two among many instances that I could render.
A reproachful word or look from any of his friends would make a Skye
terrier that I owned miserable for a whole day. If we had ever ventured
to strike him I do not know what would have happened, for his sentiments
were quite abreast of the age with respect to moral repugnance to the
use of the lash. Thus, for instance, at one time when all his own
friends were out of town, he was taken for a walk every day in the park
by my brother, to whose care he had been entrusted. He enjoyed his walks
very much, and was wholly dependent upon my brother for obtaining them.
Nevertheless, one day while he was amusing himself with another dog in
the park, my brother, in order to persuade him to follow, struck him
with a glove. The terrier looked up at his face with an astonished and
indignant gaze, deliberately turned round, and trotted home. Next day he
went out with my brother as before, but after he had gone a short
distance he looked up at his face significantly, and again trotted home
with a dignified air. After thus making his protest in the strongest way
he could, the dog ever afterwards refused to accompany him.
This terrier habitually exhibited a strong repugnance to corporal
punishment, even when inflicted upon others. Thus, whenever or wherever
he saw a man striking a dog, whether in the house or outside, near at
hand or at a distance, he used to rush in to interfere, snarling and
snapping in a most threatening way. Again, when driving with me in a
dog-cart, he always used to hold the sleeve of my coat every time I
touched the horse with the whip. As bearing upon this sensitiveness of
feeling produced in dogs by habitually kind treatment, I shall here give
an extract from the letter of one of my correspondents (Mrs. E. Picton).
It relates to a Skye terrier which had a strong aversion to being
washed:--
In process of time this aversion increased so much
that all the servants I had refused to perform the
ablutions, being in terror of doing so from the
ferocity the animal evinced on such occasions. I
myself did not choose to undertake the office, for
though the animal was passionately attached to me,
such was his horror of the operation, that even I was
not safe. Threats, beating, and starving were all of
no avail; he still persisted in his obstinacy. At
length I hit upon a new device. Leaving him perfectly
free, and not curtailing his liberty in any way, I let
him know, by taking no notice of him, that he had
offended me. He was usually the companion of my walks,
but now I refused to let him accompany me. When I
returned home I took no notice of his demonstrative
welcome, and when he came looking up at me for
caresses when I was engaged either in reading or
needlework, I deliberately turned my head aside. This
state of things continued for about a week or ten
days, and the poor animal looked wretched and forlorn.
There was evidently a conflict going on within him,
which told visibly on his outward appearance. At
length one morning he crept quietly up to me, and gave
me a look which said as plainly as any spoken words
could have done, 'I can stand it no longer; I submit.'
And submit he did quite quietly and patiently to one
of the roughest ablutions it had ever been his lot to
experience; for by this time he sorely needed it.
After it was over he bounded to me with a joyous bark
and wag of his tail, saying unmistakably, 'I know all
is right now.' He took his place by my side as his
right when I went for my walk, and retained from that
time his usually glad and joyous expression of
countenance. When the period for the next ablution
came round the old spirit of obstinacy resumed its
sway for a while, but a single look at my averted
countenance was sufficient for him, and he again
submitted without a murmur. Must there not have been
something akin to the reasoning faculty in the breast
of an animal who could thus for ten days carry on such
a struggle?
This strong effect of silent coldness shows that the loss of
affectionate regard caused the terrier more suffering than beating,
starving, or even the hated bath; and as many analogous cases might be
quoted, I have no hesitation in adducing this one as typical of the
craving for affectionate regard, which is manifested by sensitive dogs.
In this connection I may point out the remarkable change which has been
produced in the domestic dog as compared with wild dogs, with reference
to the enduring of pain. A wolf or a fox will sustain the severest kinds
of physical suffering without giving utterance to a sound, while a dog
will scream when any one accidentally treads upon its toes. This
contrast is strikingly analogous to that which obtains between savage
and civilised man: the North American Indian, and even the Hindoo, will
endure without a moan an amount of physical pain--or at least bodily
injury--which would produce vehement expressions of suffering from a
European. And doubtless the explanation is in both cases the
same--namely, that refinement of life engenders refinement of nervous
organisation, which renders nervous lesions more intolerable.
As evidence of the idea of caste in a dog, I shall quote only one
instance, although many others might be given: this also may be taken
as typical. I extract it from St. John's 'Wild Sports of the Highlands,'
where, speaking of his retriever, this very good observer states: 'He
struck up an acquaintance with a ratcatcher and his cur, thoroughly
entering into their way of business; but the moment he saw me he
instantly cut his humble friends, and denied all acquaintance with them
in the most comical manner.'[264]
Dogs likewise display in a high degree the feelings of emulation and
jealousy. I once had a terrier which took great pains, and manifested
paternal delight, in teaching his puppy to hunt rabbits. But in time the
puppy outgrew his father in strength and fleetness, so that in the
chase, in spite of straining every nerve, the father used to be
gradually distanced. His whole demeanour then changed, and every time
that he found his son drawing away from him he used in desperation to
seize the receding tail of the youngster. Although the son was now much
stronger than the father, he never used to resent this exercise of
paternal authority, even though the rabbit were close under his nose.
Of jealousy in dogs innumerable instances might be given, but I shall
merely quote one from my bulky correspondence on this head. It is sent
me by Mr. A. Oldham:--
He had grown old, and having some affection in his
legs which made walking difficult to him, he had sunk
into a very stagnant sort of life, when a Scotch
terrier was brought to live with us, and treated with
much favour. All Charlie's old vigour revived upon the
advent of this rival. He exhibited agonies of
jealousy, and has since spent his life in following,
watching, and imitating him. He insists on doing
everything that Jack does. Although he had previously
given up walking, he now makes a point of going out
whenever Jack does so. Several times he has started
with us, but finding that Jack was not of the party,
has turned back and quietly gone home. In the same
way, although before he ate nothing but meat, he now
eats any food that is also given to Jack; and if Jack
is caressed he watches for some time, and then bursts
out whining and barking. I have seen the same rage
manifested by a fine cockatoo at the sight of his
mistress carrying on her wrist and stroking
affectionately a little green parrot. Such jealousy
seems to me a very advanced emotion, as it has passed
beyond the stage when it may be supposed to be caused
by a fear of other animals monopolising _material_
benefits which they desire for themselves; it is
excited solely by seeing _affection_ or _attention_
bestowed by those they love upon other animals. The
actions in which Charlie tries to participate--such as
walking far, plunging into cold water after sticks,
&c.--are in themselves extremely disagreeable to him,
and he performs them only that he may obtain a share
in the companionship and notice bestowed upon Jack.
Akin to jealousy is the sense of justice. If a master is not equal in
his ways towards his dogs, the dogs are very apt to discover the
injustice and to resent it accordingly. The well-known observation of
the great Arago may be taken as a typical one in this connection. Having
been detained by a storm at a country inn, and having ordered a chicken
for his dinner, Arago was warming himself by the kitchen fire, when he
saw the innkeeper put the fowl on the spit and attempt to seize a
turnspit dog lying in the kitchen. The brute, however, refused to enter
the wheel, got under a table, and showed fight. On Arago asking what
could be the meaning of such conduct, the host replied that the dog had
some excuse, that it was not his turn but his comrade's, who did not
happen to be in the kitchen. Accordingly, the other turnspit was sent
for, and he entered the spit very willingly, and turned away. When the
fowl was half roasted Arago took him out, and the other dog, no longer
smarting under the sense of injustice, now took his turn without any
opposition, and completed the roasting of the fowl.
Deceitfulness is another trait in canine character of which numberless
instances might be given; but here, again, it seems unnecessary to quote
more than one or two cases as illustrative of the general fact. Another
of my correspondents, after giving several examples of the display of
hypocrisy of a King Charles spaniel, proceeds:--
He showed the same deliberate design of deceiving on
other occasions. Having hurt his foot he became lame
for a time, during which he received more pity and
attention than usual. For months after he had
recovered, whenever he was harshly spoken to, he
commenced hobbling about the room as if lame and
suffering pain from his foot. He only gave up the
practice when he gradually perceived that it was
unsuccessful.
The following instance, which I observed myself, I regard as more
remarkable. It has already been published in 'Nature' (vol. xii., p.
66), from which I quote it:
The terrier used to be very fond of catching flies
upon the window-panes, and if ridiculed when
unsuccessful was evidently much annoyed. On one
occasion, in order to see what he would do, I
purposely laughed immoderately every time he failed.
It so happened that he did so several times in
succession--partly, I believe, in consequence of my
laughing--and eventually he became so distressed that
he positively _pretended_ to catch the fly, going
through all the appropriate actions with his lips and
tongue, and afterwards rubbing the ground with his
neck as if to kill the victim: he then looked up at me
with a triumphant air of success. So well was the
whole process simulated that I should have been quite
deceived, had I not seen that the fly was still upon
the window. Accordingly I drew his attention to this
fact, as well as to the absence of anything upon the
floor; and when he saw that his hypocrisy had been
detected he slunk away under some furniture, evidently
very much ashamed of himself.
This allusion to the marked effects of ridicule upon a dog leads to a
consideration of the next emotion with which I feel certain that some
dogs are to be accredited. I mean the emotion of the ludicrous. This
same terrier used, when in good humour, to perform several tricks, which
I know to have been self-taught, and which clearly had the object of
exciting laughter. For instance, while lying on his side and violently
grinning, he would hold one leg in his mouth. Under such circumstances,
nothing pleased him so much as having his joke duly appreciated, while
if no notice was taken of him he would become sulky. On the other hand,
nothing displeased him so much as being laughed at when he did not
intend to be ridiculous, as could not be more conclusively proved than
by the fact of his behaviour in pretending to catch the fly. Mr. Darwin
observes: 'Dogs show what may be fairly called a sense of humour, as
distinct from mere play; if a bit of stick or other such object be
thrown to one, he will often carry it away for a short distance; and
then squatting down with it on the ground close before him, will wait
until his master comes close to take it away. The dog will seize it and
rush away in triumph, repeating the same manoeuvre, and evidently
enjoying the practical joke.'[265]
_General Intelligence._
I have very definite evidence of the fact that dogs are able to
communicate to one another simple ideas. The communication is always
effected by gesture or tones of barking, and the ideas are always of
such a simple nature as that of a mere 'follow me.' According to my own
observations, the dogs must be above the average of canine intelligence,
and the gesture they invariably employ is a contact of heads, with a
motion between a rub and a butt. It is quite different from anything
that occurs in play, and is always followed by a definite course of
action. I must add, however, that although the information thus conveyed
is always definite, I have never known a case in which it was
complex--anything like asking or telling the way, which several writers
have said that dogs can do, being, I believe, quite out of the question.
One example will suffice. A Skye terrier (not quite pure) was asleep in
the room where I was, while his son lay upon a wall which separates the
lawn from the high road. The young dog, when alone, would never attack a
strange one, but was a keen fighter when in company with his father.
Upon the present occasion a large mongrel passed along the road, and
shortly afterwards the old dog awoke and went sleepily downstairs. When
he arrived upon the door-step his son ran up to him and made the sign
just described. His whole manner immediately altered to that of high
animation. Clearing the wall together, the two animals ran down the road
as terriers only can when pursuing an enemy. I watched them for a mile
and a half, within which distance their speed never abated, although the
object of their pursuit had not from the first been in sight.
It is almost superfluous to give cases illustrating the well-known fact
that dogs communicate their desires and ideas to man; but as the subject
of the communication by signs will afterwards be found of importance in
connection with the philosophy of communication by words, I shall here
give a few examples of dogs communicating by signs with man, which for
my purpose will be the more valuable the less they are recognised as
unusual.
Lieutenant-Gen. Sir John H. Lefroy, C.B., K.C.M.G., F.R.S., writes me
that he has a terrier which it is the duty of his wife's maid to wash
and feed. 'It was her habit after calling her mistress in the morning to
go out and milk a goat which was tethered near the house, and give
"Button" the milk. One morning, being rather earlier than usual, instead
of going out at once she took up some needlework and began to occupy
herself. The dog endeavoured in every possible way to attract her
attention and draw her forth, and at last pushed aside the curtain of a
closet, and never having been taught to fetch or carry, took between his
teeth the cup she habitually used, and brought it to her feet. I
inquired into every circumstance strictly on the spot, and was shown
where he found the cup.'
Similarly I select the following case from a great number of others that
I might quote, because it is so closely analogous to the above. It is
communicated to me by Mr. A. H. Baines:--
There is a drinking-trough for him in my sitting-room:
if at any time it happens to be without water when he
goes to drink, he scratches the dish with his
fore-paws in order to call attention to his wants, and
this is done in an authoritative way, which generally
has the desired effect. Another Pomeranian--a member
of the same family--when quite young used to soak
hard biscuits in water till soft enough to eat. She
would carry the biscuit in her mouth to the
drinking-trough, drop it in and leave it there for a
few minutes, and then fish it out with her paw.
One more instance of the communication of ideas by gestures will no
doubt be deemed sufficient. It is one of a kind which has many analogies
in the literature of canine intelligence.
Dr. Beattie relates this case of canine sagacity, of which the scene was
a place near Aberdeen. The Dee being frozen, a gentleman named Irvine
was crossing the ice, which gave way with him about the middle of the
river. Having a gun, he was able to keep himself from sinking by placing
it across the opening. 'The dog made many fruitless efforts to save his
master, and then ran to a neighbouring village, where he saw a man, and
with the most significant gestures pulled him by the coat, and prevailed
on him to follow. The man arrived on the spot in time to save the
gentleman's life.'
Numberless other instances of the same kind might be given, and they
display a high degree of intelligence. Even the idea of saving life
implies in itself no small amount of intelligence; but in such cases as
these we have added the idea of going for help, communicating news of a
disaster, and leading the way to its occurrence.
Having thus as briefly as possible considered the emotional and the more
ordinary intellectual faculties of the dog, I shall pass on to the
statement of cases showing the higher and more exceptional developments
of canine sagacity.
Were the purpose of this work that of accumulating anecdotes of animal
intelligence, this would be the place to let loose a flood of facts,
which might all be well attested, relating to the high intelligence of
dogs. But as my aim is rather that of suppressing anecdotes, except in
so far as facts are required to prove the presence in animals of the
sundry psychological faculties which I believe the different classes to
present, I shall here, as elsewhere, follow the method of not
multiplying anecdotes further than seems necessary fully to demonstrate
the highest level of intelligence to which the animal under
consideration can certainly be said to attain. But in order that any who
read these pages for the sake of the anecdotes which they necessarily
present may not be disappointed by meeting with cases already known to
them, I shall draw my material mainly from the facts communicated to me
by private correspondents, alluding to previously published facts only
as supplementary to those now published for the first time. It may be
well to explain to my numerous correspondents that I select the
following cases for quoting, not because they are the most sensational
that I have received, but rather because they either contain nothing
sufficiently exceptional to excite the criticism of incredulity, or
because they happen to have been corroborated by the more or less
similar cases which I quote from other correspondents.
As showing the high general intelligence of the dog, I shall first begin
with the collie. It is certain that many of these dogs can be trusted to
gather and drive sheep without supervision. It is enough on this head to
refer to the well-known anecdotes of the poet Hogg in his 'Shepherd's
Calendar,' concerning his dog 'Sirrah.'
Williams, in his book on 'Dogs and their Ways,' says (p. 124) that a
friend of his had a collie which, whenever his master said the words
'Cast, cast,' would run off to seek any sheep that might be cast, and on
finding it would at once assist it to rise. He also knew of another dog
(p. 102), which would perform the same office even in the absence of his
master, going the round of the fields and pastures by himself to right
all the sheep that he found to be cast.[266]
One of my correspondents (Mr. Laurie Gentles) sends me an account of a
sheep-dog belonging to a friend of his (Mr. Mitchell, of
Inverness-shire) which strayed to a neighbouring farm, and took up his
residence with the farmer. On the second night after the dog arrived at
the farm the farmer 'took the dog down to the meadow to see if the
cattle were all right. To his dismay he found that the fence between
his meadow and his neighbour's had got broken down, and that the whole
of his neighbour's cattle had got mixed up with his. By the help of the
dog the strange cattle were driven back into their proper meadow, and
the fence put into temporary repair. The _next_ night, at the same hour,
the gentleman started off to look after the cattle. The dog, however,
was not to be seen. On arriving at the meadow, what was the gentleman's
astonishment to find that the dog had preceded him! His astonishment
soon changed into delighted approbation when he found the dog sitting on
the broken fence between the two meadows, and daring the cattle from
either side to cross. The cattle had during the interval between the
first and second visits broken down the fence, and had got mixed up with
each other. The dog had quietly gone off on his own account to see if
all was right, and finding a similar accident to the one the previous
evening, had _alone_ and _unaided_ driven back the _strange_ cattle to
their proper meadow, and had mounted guard over the broken fence as I
have already indicated.'
Colonel Hamilton Smith says that the cattle-dogs of Cuba and Terra Firma
are very wise in managing cattle, but require to display different
tactics from the cattle-dogs of Europe:--
When vessels with live stock arrive at any of the West
India harbours, these animals, some of which are
nearly as large as mastiffs, are wonderfully efficient
in assisting to land the cargo. The oxen are hoisted
out with a sling passing round the base of their
horns; and when an ox, thus suspended by the head, is
lowered, and allowed to fall into the water, so that
it may swim to land, men sometimes swim by the side of
it and guide it, but they have often dogs of this
breed which will perform the service equally well;
for, catching the perplexed animal by the ears, one on
each side, they will force it to swim in the direction
of the landing-place, and instantly let go their hold
when they feel it touch the ground, as the ox will
then naturally walk out of the water by itself.[267]
That this sagacity need not be due to special tuition, may be inferred
from a closely similar display spontaneously shown in the following
case. It is communicated to me by a correspondent, Mr. A. H. Browning.
This gentleman was looking at a litter of young pigs in their sty, and
when he went away the door of the sty was inadvertently left unfastened.
The pigs all escaped into his garden. My correspondent then proceeds:--
My attention was called to my dog appearing in a great
state of excitement, _not_ barking (he seldom barks),
but whining and performing all sorts of antics (in a
human subject I should have said 'gesticulating'). The
herdmen and myself returned to the sty; we caught but
one pig, and put him back; no sooner had we done so
than the dog ran after each pig in succession, brought
him back to the sty by the ear, and then went after
another, until the whole number were again housed.
In Lord Brougham's 'Dialogues on Instinct' (iii.) there is narrated the
story told to the author by Lord Truro of a dog that used to worry sheep
at night. The animal quietly submitted to be tied up in the evening, but
when everybody was asleep he used to slip his collar, worry the sheep,
and, returning before dawn, again get into his collar to avoid
suspicion. I allude to this remarkable display of sagacity because I am
myself able fully to corroborate it by precisely similar cases. A friend
of mine (the late Mr. Sutherland Murray) had a dog which was always kept
tied up at night, but nevertheless the neighbouring farmers complained
of having detected him as the culprit when watching to find what dog it
was that committed nightly slaughter among their sheep. My friend,
therefore, set a watch upon his dog, and found that when all was still
be slipped his collar, and after being absent for some hours, returned
and slipped his head in again.
A precisely similar case is given further back, and others are
communicated to me by two correspondents (Mr. Goodbehere, of Birmingham,
and Mr. Richard Williams, of Buffalo). The latter says:--
And here let me ask if you are aware of the cunning
and sagacity of these sheep-killing dogs, that they
never kill sheep on the farm to which they belong, or
in the immediate vicinity, but often go miles away;
that they always return before daylight, and before
doing so wash themselves in some stream to get rid of
the blood.
In Germany I knew a large dog that was very fond of grapes, and at night
used to slip his collar in order to satisfy his propensity; and it was
not for some time that the thief was suspected, owing to his returning
before daylight and appearing innocently chained up in his kennel.
A closely similar case is recorded in Mr. Duncan's book on 'Instinct' of
a dog belonging to the Rev. Mr. Taylor, of Colton. The only difference
is that the delinquent dog slipped and afterwards readjusted a muzzle
instead of a collar.
In connection with sly sagacity I may also give another story contained
in my correspondence, although in this case I am specially requested by
my correspondent not to publish his name. I can, therefore, only say
that he occupies a high position in the Church, and that the dog (a
retriever) was his own property:--
The dog was lying one evening before the kitchen fire
where the cook had prepared a turkey for roasting. She
left the kitchen for a few moments, when the dog
immediately carried away the turkey and placed it in
the cleft of a tree close to the house, but which was
well concealed by the surrounding laurels. So rapid
were his movements that he returned to his post before
the cook had come back, and stretching himself before
the fire, looked 'as innocent as a child unborn.'
Unfortunately for him, however, a man who was in the
habit of taking him to shoot, saw him carrying away
his prize and watched his progress. On coming into the
kitchen the man found the dog in his old place
pretending to be asleep. Diver's conduct was all along
dictated by a desire to conceal his theft, and if he
were a man I should have said that he intended, in
case of inquiry, to prove an alibi.
Mr. W. H. Bodley writes me of a retriever dog that belonged to him:--
Before he came to me he lived where another dog of
similar size was kept, and on one occasion they
fought. Having been chastised for this, on future
occasions when they quarrelled they used to swim over
a river of some breadth, where they could not be
interfered with, and fight out their quarrel on the
other side. What seems to me noteworthy in this
conduct is the _self-restraint_ manifested under the
influence of _passion_, and the mutual understanding
to defer the fight till they could prosecute it
unmolested; like two duellists crossing the Channel to
fight in France.
It is, of course, a well-known thing that dogs may easily be taught the
use of coin for buying buns, &c. In the 'Scottish Naturalist' for April,
1881, Mr. Japp vouches for the fact that a collie which he knew was in
the habit of purchasing cakes with coppers without ever having been
taught the use of coin for such purposes. This fact, however, of a dog
spontaneously divining the use of money requires corroboration, although
it is certain that many dogs have an instinctive idea of giving
peace-offerings, and the step from this to the idea of barter may not be
large. Thus, to give only two illustrations, Mr. Badcock writes to me
that a friend of his had a dog which one day had a quarrel with a
companion dog, so that they parted at variance. 'On the next day the
friend appeared with a biscuit, which he presented as a peace-offering.'
Again, Mr. Thomas D. Smeaton writes to me of his dog that he 'has an
amusing practice when he is restored to favour after some slight
offence, of immediately picking up and carrying anything that is
handiest, stone, stick, paper: it is a deliberate effort to please, a
sort of good-will offering, a shaking hands over the past.'
I am indebted for the following to Mr. Goodbehere, of Birmingham; it may
be taken as typical of many similar cases:--
My friend (Mr. James Canning, of Birmingham) was
acquainted with a small mongrel dog who on being
presented with a penny or a halfpenny would run with
it in his mouth to a baker's, jump on to the top of
the half-door leading into the shop, and ring the bell
behind the door until the baker came forward and gave
him a bun or a biscuit in exchange for the coin. The
dog would accept any small biscuit for a halfpenny,
but nothing less than a bun would satisfy him for a
penny. On one occasion the baker (being annoyed at the
dog's too frequent visits), after receiving the coin,
refused to give the dog anything in exchange, and on
every future occasion the latter (who declined being
_taken in_ a second time) would put the coin on the
floor, and not permit the baker to pick it up until he
had received its equivalent.
Mr. R. O. Backhouse writes to me:--
My dog is a broken-haired rabbit-coursing dog, and is
very intelligent. I took him one day to an exhibition
of pictures and objects of interest, among which were
statues and a bust of Sir Walter Scott. It was a local
exhibition, and as there was jewellery, some one had
to sit up all night with it as guard. I volunteered,
and as we were looking about and sitting on a stand of
flowers, my dog suddenly began to bark, and made as if
he had found some one hiding. On looking round I found
that it was the bust of Sir Walter Scott standing
among the flowers, and in which he evidently
recognised sufficient likeness to a human being to
think the supposed man had no business there at so
late an hour.
I adduce this instance because it serves as a sort of introduction to
the more remarkable faculty which I cannot have the least doubt is
manifested by some dogs--the faculty, namely, of recognising portraits
as representing persons, or possibly of mistaking portraits for persons.
Mr. Crehore, writing to 'Nature' (vol. xxi., p. 132), says:--
A Dandie-Dinmont terrier, after the death of his
mistress, was playing with some children in a room
into which was brought a photograph (large) of her
that he had never previously seen. It was placed upon
the floor leaning against the wall. In the words of my
informant, who witnessed it, the dog, when he suddenly
caught sight of the picture, crouched and trembled all
over, his whole body quivering. Then he crept along
the floor till he reached it, and, seating himself
before it, began to bark loudly, as if he would say,
'Why don't you speak to me?' The picture was moved to
other parts of the room, and he followed, seating
himself before it and repeating his barking.
Mr. Charles W. Peach also gives an account in 'Nature' (vol. xx., p.
196) of a large dog recognising his portrait:--
When it (the portrait) was brought to my house, my old
dog was present with the family at the unveiling;
nothing was said to him, nor invitation given to him
to notice it. We saw that his gaze was steadily fixed
on it, and he soon became excited and whined, and
tried to lick and scratch it, and was so much taken up
with it that we--although so well knowing his
intelligence--were all quite surprised--in fact, could
scarcely believe that he should know it was my
likeness. We, however, had sufficient proof after it
was hung up in our parlour. The room was rather low,
and under the picture stood a chair: the door was left
open, without any thought about the dog; he, however,
soon found it out, when a low whining and scratching
was heard by the family, and on search being made, he
was in the chair trying to get at the picture. After
this I put it up higher, so as to prevent its being
injured by him. This did not prevent him from paying
attention to it, for whenever I was away from home,
whether for a short or a long time--sometimes for
several days--he spent most of his time gazing on it,
and as it appeared to give him comfort the door was
always left open for him. When I was long away he made
a low whining, as if to draw attention to it. This
lasted for years--in fact, as long as he lived.
From this account it appears that when in the first instance the dog's
attention was drawn to the picture it was on the floor in the line of
the dog's sight; the behaviour of the animal then and subsequently was
too marked and peculiar to admit of mistake.
Another correspondent in 'Nature' (vol. xx., p. 220), alluding to the
previous letter, writes:--
Having read Mr. Peach's letter on 'Intellect in
Brutes,' as shown by the sagacity he witnessed in his
dog, I have been asked to send a similar anecdote,
which I have often told to friends. Many years ago my
husband had his portrait taken by J. Phillips, R.A.,
and subsequently went to India, leaving the portrait
in London to be finished and framed. When it was sent
home, about two years after it was taken, it was
placed on the floor against the sofa, preparatory to
being hung on the wall. We had then a very handsome
black-and-tan setter, which was a great pet in the
house. As soon as the dog came into the room he
recognised his master, though he had not seen him for
two years, and went up to the picture and licked the
face. When this anecdote was told to Phillips, he said
it was the highest compliment that had ever been paid
him.
Similarly, in the same periodical (vol. xx., p. 220), Mr. Henry Clark
writes:--
Some years ago a fine arts exhibition was held at
Derby. A portrait of a Derby artist (Wright) was thus
signalised:--'The artist's pet dog distinguished this
from a lot of pictures upon the floor of the studio by
licking the face of the portrait.'
Again, I learn from Dr. Samuel Wilks, F.R.S., that a friend of his, whom
I shall call Mrs. E., has a terrier which recognised her portrait. 'The
portrait is now (1881) hanging in the Royal Academy. When it first
arrived home the dog barked at it, as it did at strangers; but after a
day or two, when Mrs. E. opened the door to show the portrait to some
friends, the dog went straight to the picture and licked the hand. The
picture is a three-quarter length portrait of a lady with the hand at
the bottom of the picture.'
Lastly, my sister, who is a very conscientious and accurate observer,
witnessed a most unmistakable recognition of portraits as representative
of persons on the part of a small but intelligent terrier of her own. At
my request she committed the facts to writing shortly after they
occurred. The following is her statement of them:--
I have a small terrier who attained the age of eight
months without ever having seen a large picture. One
day three nearly life-sized portraits were placed in
my room during his absence. Two were hung up, and one
left standing against the wall on the floor awaiting
the arrival of a picture-rod. When the dog entered the
room he appeared much alarmed by the sight of the
pictures, barking in a terrified manner first at one
and then at another. That is to say, instead of
attacking them in an aggressive way with tail erect,
as he would have done on thus encountering a strange
person, he barked violently and incessantly at some
distance from the paintings, with tail down and body
elongated, sometimes bolting under the chairs and
sofas in the extremity of his fear, and continuing
barking from there. Thinking it might be merely the
presence of strange objects in the room which excited
him, I covered the faces of the portraits with cloths
and turned the face of the one on the floor to the
wall. The dog soon after emerged from his
hiding-place, and having looked intently at the
covered pictures and examined the back of the frame on
the ground, became quite quiet and contented. I then
uncovered one of the pictures, when he immediately
flew at it, barking in the same frightened manner as
before. I then re-covered that one and took the cover
off another. The dog left the covered one and rushed
at the one which was exposed. I then turned the face
of the one on the floor to the room, and he flew at
that with increased fierceness. This I did many times,
covering and uncovering each picture alternately,
always with the same result. It was only when all
three paintings were uncovered at the same time, and
he saw one looking at him in whatever direction he
turned, that he became utterly terrified. He continued
in this state for nearly an hour, at the end of which
time, although evidently very nervous and apt to
start, he ceased to bark. After that day he never took
any more notice of the pictures during the three
months he remained in the house. He was then absent
from the house for seven months. On his return he went
with me into the room where the portraits were hung,
immediately on his arrival. He was evidently again
much startled on first seeing them, for he rushed at
one, barking as he had done on the first occasion, but
he only gave three or four barks when he ran back to
me with the same apologetic manner as he has when he
has barked at a well-known friend by mistake.
It will have been observed that in all these cases the portraits, when
first recognised as bearing resemblance to human beings, were placed on
the floor, or in the ordinary line of the dog's sight. This is probably
an important condition to the success of the recognition. That it
certainly was so in the case of my sister's terrier was strikingly
proved on a subsequent occasion, when she took the animal into a
picture-shop where there were a number of portraits hanging round the
walls, and also one of Carlyle standing on the floor. The terrier did
not heed those upon the walls, but barked excitedly at the one upon the
floor. This case was further interesting from the fact that there were a
number of purchasers in the shop who were, of course, strangers to the
terrier; yet he took no notice of them, although so much excited by the
picture. This shows that the pictorial illusion was not so complete as
to make the animal suppose the portrait to be a real person; it was only
sufficiently so to make it feel a sense of bewildered uncertainty at the
kind of life-in-death appearance of the motionless representation.
If, notwithstanding all this body of mutually corroborative cases, it is
still thought incredible that dogs should be able to recognise pictorial
representations,[268] we should do well to remember that this grade of
mental evolution is reached very early in the psychical development of
the human child. In my next work I shall adduce evidence to show that
children of one year, or even less, are able to distinguish pictures as
representations of particular objects, and will point at the proper
pictures when asked to show these objects.
Coming now to cases more distinctly indicative of reason in the strict
sense of the word, numberless ordinary acts performed by dogs
indisputably show that they possess this faculty. Thus, for instance,
Livingstone gives the following observation.[269] A dog tracking his
master along a road came to a place where three roads diverged. Scenting
along two of the roads and not finding the trail, he ran off on the
third without waiting to smell. Here, therefore, is a true act of
inference. If the track is not on A or B, it must be on C, there being
no other alternative.
Again, it is not an unusual thing for intelligent dogs, who know that
their masters do not wish to take them out, to leave the house and run a
long distance in the direction in which they suppose their masters are
about to go, in order that when they are there found the distance may be
too great for their masters to return home for the purpose of shutting
them up. I have myself known several terriers that would do this, and
one of the instances I shall give _in extenso_ (quoted from an account
which I published at the time in 'Nature'); for I think it displays
remarkably complex processes of far-seeing calculation:--
The terrier in question followed a conveyance from the
house in which I resided in the country, to a town ten
miles distant. _He only did this on one occasion_, and
about five months afterwards was taken _by train_ to
the same town as a present to some friends there.
Shortly afterwards I called upon these friends in a
different conveyance from the one which the dog had
previously followed; but the latter may have known
that the two conveyances belonged to the same house.
Anyhow, after I had put up the horses at an inn, I
spent the morning with the terrier and his new
masters, and in the afternoon was accompanied by them
to the inn. I should have mentioned that the inn was
the same as that at which the conveyance had been put
up on the previous occasion, five months before. Now,
the dog evidently remembered this, and, reasoning from
analogy, inferred that I was about to return. This is
shown by the fact that he stole away from our
party--although at what precise moment he did so I
cannot say, but it was certainly _after_ we had
arrived at the inn, for subsequently we all remembered
his having entered the coffee-room with us. Now, not
only did he infer from a single precedent that I was
going home, and make up his mind to go with me, but he
also further reasoned thus:--'As my previous master
lately sent me to town, it is probable that he does
not want me to return to the country; therefore, if I
am to seize this opportunity of resuming my poaching
life, I must now steal a march upon the conveyance.
But not only so, my former master may possibly pick me
up and return with me to my proper owners; therefore I
must take care only to intercept the conveyance at a
point sufficiently far without the town to make sure
that he will not think it worth his while to go back
with me.'
Complicated as this train of reasoning is, it is the simplest one I can
devise to account for the fact that slightly beyond the _third_
milestone the terrier was awaiting me, lying right in the middle of the
road with his face towards the town. I should add that the second two
miles of the road were quite straight, so that I could easily have seen
the dog if he had been merely running a comparatively short distance in
front of the horses. Why this animal should never have returned to his
former home on his own account I cannot suggest, but I think it was
merely due to an excessive caution which he also manifested in other
things. However, be the explanation of this what it may, as a fact he
never did venture to come back upon his own account, although there
never was a subsequent occasion upon which any of his former friends
went to the town but the terrier was seen to return with them, having
always found some way of escape from his intended imprisonment.
The Rev. J. C. Atkinson gives an account ('Zoologist,' vol. vii., p.
2338) of his terrier, which, on starting a water-rat out of reeds into
the running stream, would not plunge directly after it, knowing that the
rat would beat him at swimming. But the moment the rat plunged, the dog
ran four or five yards down the bank, and there waited till the
water-rat, being carried down stream, appeared upon the surface, when he
pounced upon it successfully.
Cases of this kind might be multiplied indefinitely, and they appear to
show a true faculty of reason or inferring.
Professor W. W. Bailey, writing from Brown University to 'Nature'
(xxii., p. 607), says:--
A friend of mine, a naturalist, and a very
conscientious man, whose word can be implicitly
trusted, gives the following, to which he was an
eye-witness. His grandfather, then a very old but hale
and hearty man, had a splendid Newfoundland. There was
a narrow and precipitous road leading from the fields
to the house. It was regarded as a very dangerous
place. One day when the old gentleman was doing some
work about the farm his horse became alarmed, and
started off with the waggon along this causeway. The
chances were that he would dash himself and the empty
waggon to pieces. At once the dog seemed to take in
the situation, although until that time he had been
impassive. He started after the horse at full speed,
overtook him, caught the bridle, and by his strength
arrested the frightened creature until help could
reach him. My friend gives many other stories of this
fine dog, and thinks he had a decided sense of humour.
I will repeat that both of these tales come to me well
authenticated, and I could, by seeking permission,
give names and places.
Couch gives the following, which is worth quoting, as showing the
intelligence of dogs in attacking unusual prey:--
On the first discovery of the prey (crabs) a terrier
runs in to seize it, and is immediately and severely
bitten in the nose. But a sedate Newfoundland dog of
my acquaintance proceeds more soberly in his work. He
lays his paw on it to arrest it in its escape; then
tumbling it over he bares his teeth, and, seizing it
with the mouth, throws the crab aloft. It falls upon
the stones; the shell is cracked beyond redemption,
and then the dainty dish is devoured at his
leisure.[270]
I myself know a large dog in Germany which used to kill snakes by
dexterously tossing them in the air a great number of times, too quickly
to admit of the snake biting. When the snake was thus quite confused,
the dog would tear it in pieces. This dog can never have been poisoned
by the bite of a snake; but he seems to have had an instinctive idea
that the snake might be more harmful in its bite than other animals; for
while he was bold in fighting with dogs, and did not then object to
receiving his fair share of laceration, he was extremely careful never
to begin to tear a snake till he had thoroughly bewildered it by tossing
it as described.
The reasoning displayed by dogs may not always be of a high order, but
little incidents, from being of constant occurrence among all dogs, are
the more important as showing the reasoning faculty to be general to
these animals. I shall therefore give a few cases to show the kind of
reasoning that is of constant occurrence.
Mr. Stone writes to me from Norbury Park concerning two of his dogs, one
large and the other small. Both being in a room at the same time,
one of them, the larger, had a bone, and when he had
left it the smaller dog went to take it, the larger
one growled, and the other retired to a corner.
Shortly afterwards the larger dog went out, but the
other did not appear to notice this, and at any rate
did not move. A few minutes later the large dog was
heard to bark out of doors; the little dog then,
without a moment's hesitation, went straight to the
bone and took it. It thus appears quite evident that
she reasoned--'That dog is barking out of doors,
therefore he is not in this room, therefore it is safe
for me to take the bone.' The action was so rapid as
to be clearly a consequence of the other dog's
barking.
Again, Mr. John Le Conte, writing from the University of California,
tells me of a dog which used to hunt rabbits in an extensive
pasture-ground where there was a hollow tree, which frequently served as
a place of refuge for the rabbits when they were pressed:--
On one occasion a rabbit was 'started,' and all of the
dogs, with the exception of 'Bonus,' dashed off in
full pursuit. We were astonished to observe that the
sedate 'Bonus,' foregoing the intense excitement of
the chase, deliberately trotted by a short cut to a
hollow oak trunk, and crouching at its base calmly
awaited the advent of the fleeing rabbit. And he was
not disappointed (they frequently escaped without
being reduced to this extremity), for the pursuing
dogs pressed the rabbit so hard that, after making a
long detour, it made for the place of refuge. As it
was about entering the hollow trunk, the crouching
'Bonus' captured the astonished rodent.
Similarly, Dr. Andrew Wilson, F.R.S.E., writes me as follows:--
There is a shrubbery near the house, about 200 or 300
yards long, and running in the shape of a horseshoe. A
small terrier used to start a rabbit nearly every
morning, at the end of the shrubbery next the house,
and hunt him through the whole length of it to the
other end, where the rabbit escaped into an old drain.
The dog then appears to have come to the conclusion
that the chord of a circle is shorter than its arc,
for he raised the rabbit again, and instead of
following him through the shrubbery as usual, he took
the short cut to the drain, and was ready and in
waiting on the rabbit when he arrived, and caught him.
A somewhat similar instance is communicated to me by Mr. William Cairns,
of Argyll House, N.B.:--
I was watching the operations of a little Skye terrier
on a wheatstack which was in the course of being
thrashed, when suddenly a very large rat bounced off,
just from under Fan's nose. It darted into a pit of
water about a dozen yards from the stack, and tried to
escape. Fan, however, plunged after, and swam for some
distance, but found she was being left behind. So she
turned to the shore again _and ran round to the other
side of the pit, and was ready and caught it just on
landing_.
I never saw anything more remarkable. If it was not
reason, I do not know how it is possible that it could
come much more closely to the exercise of that
faculty.
Dr. Bannister, editor of the 'Journal of Nervous and Mental Diseases,'
writes me from Chicago, that having spent a winter in Alaska, he 'had a
good opportunity to study animal intelligence in the Eskimo dogs,' and
he reports it as 'a fact of common occurrence,' when the dogs are
drawing sledges on the ice near the coast, that on coming to
sinuosities in the coast-line, they spontaneously leave the beaten track
and strike out so as to 'cut across the windings by going straight from
point to point' of land. This is frequently done even when the leading
dog 'could not see the whole winding of the beaten track; he seemed to
reason that the route must lead around the headlands, and that he could
economise travel by cutting across.'
It will be remembered in connection with these dogs, that Mr. Darwin in
the 'Descent of Man' (p. 75) quotes Dr. Hayes, who, in his work on 'The
Open Polar Sea,' 'repeatedly remarks that his dogs, instead of
continuing to draw the sledges in a compact body, diverged and separated
when they came to thin ice, so that their weight might be more evenly
[and widely] distributed. This was often the first warning which the
travellers received that the ice was becoming thin and dangerous.' Mr.
Darwin remarks, 'This instinct may possibly have arisen since the time,
long ago, when dogs were first employed by the natives in drawing their
sledges; or the Arctic wolves, the parent stock of the Esquimaux dog,
may have acquired an instinct, impelling them not to attack their prey
in a close pack when on thin ice.'
Mrs. Horn writes me:--
One morning, soon after his usual time for starting, I
saw the dog looking anxiously about, evidently afraid
that my brother had gone without him. He looked into
the room where we had breakfasted, but my brother was
not there. He went up two or three stairs, and
listened attentively. Then, to my astonishment, he
came down, and going to the hat-stand in the hall,
stood on his hind legs and sniffed at the great-coats
hanging there, undoubtedly trying to ascertain whether
my brother's coat was there or not.
Another correspondent (Mr. Westlecombe) writes:--
My cat had kittens, of which two were preserved, the
rest being drowned. The dog tolerated the two kittens,
but did not care about them with any friendship. When
the kittens were a few weeks old, I--finding that I
could get but one of them off my hands--determined to
kill the other, and, as the quickest mode of death, to
shoot it by a pistol close behind its head. The dog
saw me do this in my garden, and in a few minutes
afterwards she appeared with the other kitten dead in
her mouth; she had killed it. If that was not
reasoning I do not know what is.
Mr. W. F. Hooper writes me of a Newfoundland dog that was in the habit
of accompanying the nursemaid and baby belonging to its mistress. On one
occasion a keen wind began to blow, and the nursemaid drew her shawl
over the child:--
The nursemaid had not taken many steps towards home
before her progress was barred by the dog, who placed
himself in the centre of the path and growled whenever
she advanced. She was much alarmed, and tried to coax
the dog to move, but Leo would not, and abated nothing
of the hostile display. Half an hour passed, and the
girl became nearly distracted. What could be the
matter with the dog? Was she to be a prisoner all day?
Would the animal fly at her throat? Was Leo suffering
from hydrophobia? These and similar questions crossed
the girl's mind. At length a suggestion of despair--it
was nothing more--occurred to her. She thought it
might win the dog round to good humour if she showed
it the baby; so she removed the folds of her shawl and
presented it at arm's length to the dog. The result
was magical, and far in excess of all expectation, for
not only did the dog cease to growl, but he began to
gambol and caress, and removed himself from the path
altogether, so that there was now a free course, and
home was soon reached. The explanation of the whole
affair is, when the nursemaid turned on her path
thinking she had gone sufficiently far, the dog missed
sight of the baby, and believed it was gone. Under
this impression the dog converted himself into a
sentinel, with the resolve that not one step should be
taken towards home without the baby; and faithfully
did the animal keep watch and ward until the
demonstration was given that the child had not been
left behind, but was still in the nurse's arms alive
and well. I think this is an exhibition of
intelligence worthy of being known to you.
I extract the following instance from Col. Hutchinson's 'Dog-breaking.'
It is briefly alluded to in the 'Descent of Man.' The observer and
narrator is Mr. Colquhoun:--
I may mention a proof of his sagacity. Having a couple
of long shots across a pretty broad stream, I stopped
a mallard with each barrel, but both were only
wounded. I sent him across for the birds. He first
attempted to bring them both, but one always struggled
out of his mouth: he then laid down one intending to
bring the other; but whenever he attempted to cross to
me, the bird left fluttered into the water; he
immediately returned again, laid down the first on the
shore and recovered the other. The first now fluttered
away, but he instantly secured it, and, standing over
them both, seemed to cogitate for a moment; then,
although on any other occasion he never ruffles a
feather, deliberately killed one, brought over the
other, and then returned for the dead bird.
The following, communicated to me by Mr. Blood, is a closely analogous,
and therefore confirmatory case. He was out shooting with a companion,
and three wild ducks were simultaneously dropped into a lake--one
falling dead and the other two winged. Mr. Blood sent in his spaniel to
retrieve,
and of course when the wounded birds saw her coming
they swam out, so that she first reached the dead
duck. She swam up to it, paused for a moment, and
passing it went after the nearest wounded bird. Having
caught this, she again hesitated, and apparently after
consideration she gave it a chop and let it go,
quieted for the present. She then caught and brought
to land the other wounded duck, and going back she
again reached the dead bird; but looking at the other
and seeing that it was again moving, she went out and
brought it in, and last of all brought the dead bird.
The dog was a first-rate retriever and never injured
game, so that it was an entirely new thing for her to
kill a bird.
Again, Mr. Arthur Nicols, in 'Nature,' vol. xix., page 496, says:--
Can we conceive any human being reasoning more
correctly than a dog did in the following instance?
Towards the evening of a long day's snipe-shooting on
Dartmoor, the party was walking down the bank of the
Dart, when my retriever flushed a widgeon which fell
to my gun in the river, and of course instantly dived.
I said no word to the dog. He did not plunge into the
river _then_, but galloped _down_ stream some fifty or
sixty yards, and then entered and dashed from side to
side--it was about twenty or thirty feet wide--working
up stream, and making a great commotion in the water
until he came to the place where we stood. Then he
landed and shook himself, and carefully hunted the
near bank a considerable distance down, crossed to
the opposite side, and diligently explored that bank.
Two or three minutes elapsed, and the party was for
moving on, when I called their attention to a sudden
change in the dog's demeanour. His 'flag' was now up
and going from side to side in that energetic manner
which, as every sportsman knows, betokens a hot scent.
I then knew that the bird was as safe as if it was
already in my bag. Away through the heather went the
waving tail, until twenty or thirty yards from the
bank opposite to that on which we were standing there
was a momentary scuffle; the bird just rose from the
ground above the heather, the dog sprang into the air,
caught it, came away at full gallop, dashed across the
stream, and delivered it into my hands. Need I
interpret all this for the experienced sportsman? The
dog had learned from long experience in Australia and
the narrow cañadas in the La Plata that a wounded duck
goes down stream; if winged, his maimed wing sticks
out and renders it impossible for him to go up, so he
will invariably land and try to hide away from the
bank. But if the dog enters at the place where the
bird fell, the latter will go on with the stream for
an indefinite distance, rising now and then for
breath, and give infinite trouble. My dog had found
out all this long since, and had proved the
correctness of his knowledge times out of number, and
by his actions had _taught me_ the whole art and
mystery of retrieving duck. His object, I say without
a doubt, because I had numberless opportunities of
observing it, was to fling the bird and force it to
land by cutting it off lower down the stream. Then
assuming, as his experience justified him, that the
bird had landed, he hunted each bank in succession for
the trail, which he knew must betray the fugitive.
As showing in a higher, and therefore rarer degree, the ratiocinative
faculty in dogs, I may quote a brief extract from my British Association
lecture:--
My friend Dr. Rae, the well-known traveller and
naturalist, knew a dog in Orkney which used to
accompany his master to church on alternate Sundays.
To do so he had to swim a channel about a mile wide;
and before taking to the water he used to run about a
mile to the north when the tide was flowing, and a
nearly equal distance to the south when the tide was
ebbing, 'almost invariably calculating his distance so
well that he landed at the nearest point to the
church.' In his letter to me Dr. Rae continues: 'How
the dog managed to calculate the strength of the
spring and neap tides at their various rates of
speed, and always to swim at the proper angle, is most
surprising.'
As a confirmatory case, I may also quote an extract from a letter sent
me by Mr. Percival Fothergill. Writing of a retriever which he has, he
says:--
I have seen her spring overboard from our gangway 16
feet from the water-line. The tides ran more than 5
knots, and she invariably came down to a little wharf
abreast the ship, and gazed intently for small pieces
of stick or straw, and having thus ascertained the
drift of the tide (did as you mention of another dog),
ran up tide and swam off. The sentry on the forecastle
always kept a look-out for the dog, and threw over a
line with a bowling knot, and she was hauled on board.
But one day she was observed to wait an unusual time
on the wharf; no wood or straw gave her the required
information. After waiting some time, she lay down on
the planks, and dropped one paw into the water, and
found by the feel which way the tide ran, got up, and
ran up stream as usual.
Mr. George Cook writes me that he recently had a pointer, which one
morning, when the grass was covered with frost, dragged a mat out of his
kennel, from which he had got loose, to the lawn beneath the house
windows, where he was found lying upon the mat, which thus served to
protect him from the frost. The distance over which he had dragged the
mat for this purpose was about 100 yards. Mr. Cook adds: 'I have since
frequently seen him bring this mat out of his kennel and lay it in the
sunshine, shifting it if a shadow came upon the place where he had laid
it.'
The following is sent me by the Rev. F. J. Penky. He gives me the name
of his friend the canon, but does not give me express permission to
publish it. In quoting his account, therefore, I leave this name blank.
He says:--
The following is an instance of sagacity--indeed,
amounting to reason--in a dog, a French poodle that
belonged to Colonel Pearson (not the lately
beleaguered colonel at Ekowe, but a Colonel Pearson
living some years ago at Lichfield). The circumstance
happened to a friend of mine, Canon ----, rector of
----. I have the story from his own lips, but I have
no permission for his name to be used in any
publication, should the story be thought worthy of
it. My friend the canon, I may say, has no leanings.
Being a guest at luncheon with the dog's master, my
friend fed the dog with pieces of beef. After luncheon
the beef was taken into the larder. The dog did not
think he had his fair share. What did he do? Now he
had been taught to stand on his hind legs, put his paw
on a lady's wrist, and hand her into the dining-room.
He adopted the same tactics with my friend the canon,
stood on his hind legs, put his paw on his arm, and
made for the door. To see what would follow, Canon
---- suffered himself to be led; but the sagacious
dog, instead of steering for the dining-room, led him
in the direction of the larder, along a passage, down
steps, &c., and did not halt till he brought him to
the larder, and close to the shelf where the beef had
been put. The dog had a small bit given him for his
sagacity, and Canon ---- returned to the drawing-room.
But the dog was still not satisfied. He tried the same
trick again, but this time fruitlessly. The canon was
not going again with him to the larder. What was Mori
to do? And here comes the instance of reason in the
poodle. Finding he could not prevail on the visitor to
make a second excursion to the larder, he went out
into the hall, took in his teeth Canon ----'s hat from
off the hall table, and carried it under the shelf in
the larder, where the coveted beef lay out of his
reach. There he was found with the hat, waiting for
the owner of the hat, and expecting another savoury
bit when he should come for his hat.
Many anecdotes might be adduced of the cleverness which some dogs show
in finding their way by train; but I shall give only three, and I select
these, not only because they all mutually corroborate one another, but
likewise because they all display such high intelligence on the part of
the dogs.
Mr. Horsfall, in 'Nature,' vol. xx., p. 505, says:--
Last year we spent our holidays at Llan Bedr,
Merionethshire. Our host has a house in the above
village, and another at Harlech, a town three miles
distant. His favourite dog, Nero, is of Norwegian
birth, and a highly intelligent animal. He is at
liberty to pass his time at either of the houses owned
by his master, and he occasionally walks from one to
the other. More frequently, however, he goes to the
railway station at Llan Bedr, gets into the train, and
jumps out at Harlech. Being most probably unable to
get out of the carriage, he was on one occasion taken
to Salsernau, the station beyond Harlech, when he
left the carriage and waited on the platform for the
return train to Harlech. If Nero did not make use of
'abstract reasoning' we may as well give up the use of
the term.
Miss M. C. Young writes to me:--
You may perhaps think the following worthy of notice,
as illustrating the comparative failure of _instinct_
in an animal which has begun to _reason_. A friend of
mine has a mongrel fox-terrier of remarkable
intelligence, though undeveloped by any training. This
dog has always shown a great fondness for accompanying
any of the family on a railway journey, often having
to be taken out of the train by force. One morning in
the summer of 1877 the groom came, in great distress,
to say that Spot had followed him to the station, and
jumped into the train after a visitor's maid who was
going to see her friends, and he (the groom) felt sure
the dog would be stolen. The railway is a short single
line, with three trains down and up each day, and my
friend is well known to all the officials, so she sent
to meet the next train, when the guard said the dog
(apparently finding no _friend_ in the train) had
jumped out at a little roadside station about five
miles distant. Most dogs would have found their way
home easily, though the place itself was strange, but
Spot did not appear till late in the evening, after
ten hours' absence, and _dead tired_. On inquiry we
found that the guard had seen nothing of her at 9
A.M., at 12 A.M., at 1 P.M., nor at 4 P.M.; but when
he reached the little station on his return at 5.30,
'she was walking up and down the platform like a
Christian,' jumped into his box, and jumped out again
of her own accord at the right station for her home.
She had evidently spent the interval in trying to find
her way home on foot, and not succeeding, had resolved
on returning the way she came.
Lastly, for the following very remarkable case I am indebted to my
friend Mrs. A. S. H. Richardson:--
The Rev. Mr. Townsend, incumbent of Lucan, was
formerly an engineer on the Dundalk line of railway.
He had a very intelligent Scotch retriever dog, which
used to have a habit of jumping into any carriage in
which Mr. Townsend travelled; but this had been
discontinued for a year when the following incident
happened. Mr. Townsend and the dog were on the
platform at Dundalk station; Mr. Townsend went to get
a ticket for a lady, and during his absence the dog
jumped into a carriage, and when the train started,
was carried down to Clones. There he found himself
alone when he jumped out; he went into the
station-master's office and looked about, then into
the ticket-collector's and searched there, and then
ran off to the town of Clones, a mile distant. There
he searched the resident engineer's office, and not
finding his master, returned to the station and went
to the _up_ platform. When the up train arrived, he
jumped in, but was driven out by the guard. A ballast
train then drew up, going on to a branch line which
was being constructed to Caran, but which was not
finished yet. The dog travelled on the engine as far
as the line went, and then ran the remaining five
miles to Caran, where Mr. Townsend's sister lived. He
visited her house, and not finding his master, ran
back to the station, and took a return train to
Clones, where he slept, and was fed by the
station-master. At four in the morning he took a goods
train down to Dundalk, where he found Mr. Townsend.
[Illustration]
It would be easy to continue multiplying anecdotes of canine
intelligence; but I think a sufficient number of instances have now been
given for the only purpose that I have in view--namely, that of
exhibiting in a connected manner the various psychological faculties
which are presented by dogs, and the level of development to which they
severally attain. I may again remark that I have selected these
instances for publication from among many others that I could have
given, only because they conform to one or other of the general
principles to which I everywhere adhere in the quoting of facts. That is
to say, these facts are either matters of ordinary observation, and so
intrinsically credible; or they stand upon the authority of observers
well known to me as competent; or they are of a kind which do not admit
of mal-observation; or, lastly, they are well corroborated by similar
accounts received from independent observers. I think, therefore, that
this sketch of the psychology of the dog is as accurate as the nature of
the materials admits of my drawing it. If it is fairly open to criticism
on any one side, I believe it is from the side of the dog-lovers, who
may perhaps with justice complain that I have ignored a number of
published facts, standing on more or less good authority, and appearing
more wonderful than any of the facts that I have rendered. To this
criticism I have only to answer that it is better to err on the safe
side, and that if the facts which I have rendered are sufficient to
prove the existence of all the psychological faculties which the dog can
fairly be said to possess, it is of less moment that partly doubtful
cases should be suppressed, where the only object of introducing them
would be to show that some particular faculties were in some particular
instances more highly developed than was the case in the instances here
recorded.
FOOTNOTES:
[263] _Descent of Man_, p. 74.
[264] So many cases are on record of large dogs (especially of the
Newfoundland breed) throwing troublesome curs into the water, and again
rescuing them if they show danger of drowning, that we can scarcely fail
to accept them as true. Such cases exhibit a wonderful play of
human-like emotions.
[265] _Descent of Man_, p. 71.
[266] For many other instances of sheep-dog sagacity, see Watson,
_Reasoning Power of Animals_, under 'Shepherd's Dog.'
[267] _Naturalist's Library_, vol. x., p. 154 (quoted by Watson).
[268] Since my MS. went to press I have myself met with a striking
display of the recognition of a portrait by a dog. The portrait was one
of myself, and the dog a half-bred setter and retriever of my own.
[269] _Missionary Travels_, chap. i.
[270] _Illustrations of Instinct_, p. 179.